


Broken Dawn

by EveJHoang



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Breeding, Canon Divergence - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Divergence - New Moon, Cervical Penetration, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Gender or Sex Swap, NSFW in the last chapter, No Beta - We Die Like Voldemort, Size Difference, Size Kink, Vaginal Penetration, don't do it at home ladies, otherwise it's PLOT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28277796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveJHoang/pseuds/EveJHoang
Summary: Last year at the same time, I started my Junior Year at Forks High; I had a peaceful, loving family waiting in a peaceful, beautiful home where I could find rest away from the unrelenting thirst in the company of my beautiful wife.Now, a year later, I wish I had a reason to just... go away. And maybe never come back.
Relationships: Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale, Jasper Hale/Harry Potter, Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander
Comments: 89
Kudos: 370





	1. Jasper Whitlock

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blood Pops and Other Sweets](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/730629) by Rokkis. 



> Starts post OotP, and summer before Bella's Birthday Accident (so the coven has yet to drop her like 80s fashion in the woods, Jasper hasn't lost control, et cætera).
> 
> Jas, Em Rose: Senior, Bella, Ed Alice: Junior (year of High School).
> 
> Only 1 diary horcrux! Dumby's delusional about there being 7.
> 
> NSFW at some point near the end! Warnings include: DETAILED SCENE, size difference size kink, cervical penetration. Don't do that, girls, Magic didn't make us Muggles to enjoy it.
> 
> This is my first time posting in English, the story was beta-ed by myself, sorry if anything seems weird. It's also my first time posting since 2016, be nice! The story is quite short and finished and only five chapters long which I will try to post regularly, though I wouldn't dare give a schedule.
> 
> It's 4am on the 24th here in France, this is my Christmas gift for myself as well as for you, reader. I hope you enjoy!

**JW**

Sometimes, I wonder why I still bother with this tiring charade.

Last year at the same time, I started my Junior Year at Forks High; I had a peaceful, loving family waiting in a peaceful, beautiful home where I could find rest away from the unrelenting thirst. I had a loving wife by my side, whom filled my senses with her joy and overall brightness, chasing away all the negativity and pain of being constantly surrounded by teenagers and their drama. It wasn't perfect, but it was good all the same, better than anything I remember.

Now… now the teenaged hormones and accompanying drama have invited themselves in our home. Now, the smell of scrumptious food I can never have permeate the beautiful house, inciting the thirst that never leaves me alone anymore. Every day, she is _there_. In the living-room, in the kitchen, _in my room_ , invited by my own wife to seep her feelings of envy and jealousy and her _smell_ in my sanctuary.

Alice doesn't care, she worships the girl. Edward obviously decided only his own desires account for anything. Rosalie feels constantly irate and fearful, and poor Emmett juggles between distracting his mate or myself from our living, breathing, _bleeding_ problem at all times. Even he is growing annoyed with the girl's constant presence.

Esme and Carlisle won't do anything to make the human uncomfortable, nevermind make her _leave_. To them, her lack of fear and her humanity is a balm to the soul, it means they can cater to her as if she were the family pet, it means we are not monsters.

So now, I start my Senior Year with a fractured family, most of which started fearing my thirst instead of helping me through it. My home isn't a place I feel at peace or even safe in anymore. I'm mostly left to my own devices when I don't feel like sitting there and look pretty for the benefit of giving the illusion of togetherness. As for my wife…

As far as I am concerned, I no longer have one.

Alice doesn't seem to mind much. She's under the impression that this is a simple break, as sometimes happens between the other couples in our family, a few months of separation before getting back together with our flame rekindled anew. She even told me it was a great idea, as she'd have more time to spend with her new best friend before having to concentrate on me again.

I don't think it's a break.

I think I'm done.

I might have been a monster, once upon a time, I might not be at peace with my past deeds or my struggles, but I'm not about to wait for a woman who so easily discarded me, I'm not saving myself for her when she won't give a damn as soon as something new and shiny catches her attention.

The day drags on, unrelentingly assaulting me with foreign feelings and awful smells of sweat and perfume and, God, stale, unappetizing blood. Why do so many girls always menstruate when school starts? And it follows me everywhere, all day, someone must have taken the same classes as I and is always sitting in the back with me, it can't possibly be a different girl every time.

Even during lunch, when that odor of stale blood, embarrassment and cinnamon finally leaves me alone, Edward brings his menstruating girlfriend to the table, making my pretend-twin inwardly rage as her husband tries to distract me from my pain with talks of video games.

When I let escape the thought that I don't want to play with my brother if Bella is there, Edward glares at me before pointedly asking her to come listen to a new composition after classes, since he lovingly wrote it while thinking of her while idly fingering his piano.

God. Even Emmett is making a face at that one, and he isn't usually one to scoff at diabetes-inducing sweetness when Rosalie is concerned.

I end up spending my evening hunting, chased out of my home.

The following day isn't better, the smell still permeates my vicinity. I decide to just stop breathing, distracting myself by watching the tiny boy sat at the other end of my row, under the window. I never saw him, he must be new, yet no-one has gossiped about a newcomer in town, which is exceptionally strange for Forks. Teenagers should at least be mocking his size, or his abysmal sense of dress, they like putting each other down to make themselves feel less inadequate.

The child really is not very impressive; dull brown hair that look washed with dry handsoap fall in a tangled mess on thin, hunched shoulders clad in wet, oversized, obviously second-hand clothes fraying at the edges. Under the disaster hair, ugly, broken round glasses eat half the face dominated by a too-square jaw and the red of chapped lips bitten too often. The only remarkable thing about him is his size, smaller than Alice and thinner than Emmett's arm.

Perhaps he isn't a newcomer. Someone so tiny and ungossiped-about might have always been around, he might have simply jumped a year or two, which would at least make his brain more impressive than his underwhelming appearance, though it makes me wonder at his living conditions.

Usually, only the La Push wolves resort to second-hand clothing in such poor shape, and that's because they can't be bothered to strip before turning into giant mutts. Poverty isn't really a problem here, so the state of the boy makes me curious enough to focus my senses on him.

Pain slams into me with the strength of a speeding train.

I gasp.

Stale blood, cheap soap and cinnamon.

I close my eyes and stop breathing again, trying to sort through the overwhelming, starkly sharp emotions emanating from the boy who can't possibly be all that male under these fraying clothes. Embarrassment, frustration, faint fear, deep-seated loneliness and self-loathing, and pain.

God almighty, the _pain_.

People have killed themselves for less. I feel physical pain that nearly makes me ache all over, but also heart-wrenching loss and betrayal.

How does such a tiny person breathe through it all?

I spend the remainder of the class in a daze, unable to completely detach myself from the child's emotions that seemingly latched onto my empathy. The rest of the morning, I try sending him waves of calm and peace, but it's not very successful, since his pain is so encroaching that I can barely conceive that such emotions ever existed in the first place.

The only thing I recognize as truly my own anymore is the worry it sparked in me, growing steadily as the hours go.

At noon, I follow the child, who disappears not in the cafeteria as everyone else does, but in the library. I watch between the stacks as he settles at a hidden table in the darkest, furthest corner, whipping out a math textbook and a packed lunch. The more he concentrates on the numbers, the more frustrated and desperate he gets, worrying me some more.

Throwing caution to the wind, I sit opposite him, inquiring about his struggles. He barks a dry laugh, the smell of tears mingling faintly with the rest.

"I struggle with literally everything, I have no bloody idea what any of my classes are about so far! Really, it's just fortunate I'm already intimately acquainted with failure because I'm not getting anywhere, here."

So, British, new, and not some kind of child prodigy, there goes my theory.

"I can tutor you if you wish," I end up blurting out.

God, me, tutoring a human who struggles with all his classes, what kind of shitty idea is that?

"… I don't want to be a bother…"

The embarrassment and loneliness take over most of the rest. I try to lather on more positive emotions.

"It's no bother at all," I confide softly. "To be perfectly honest, I live with my ex-girlfriend, whom I left because she was too busy fawning over my brother's girlfriend whom I don't like much. I never want to go back home anymore, I can't spend time with my siblings without the girl being around, I can't even find peace in my own bedroom. I feel lonely and at loss of what to do with my time, I'd like making a new friend, if you'd accept."

"I'd like a friend, but you shouldn't have to burden yourself with the resident idiot who's going to fail all his classes to get that."

"I don't believe for a second that you're an idiot, you just need help that I'd be happy to provide."

His name is Evan Harris, and I can smell the lie for what it is, and how he hates himself a little bit more for speaking it, but it's not like my name truly is Hale, nevermind all the rest of my own lies, I can't hold my new friend to higher standards than those I set for myself.

Once the smell of menstruation leaves after a few days, there isn't anything that hints at Evan being a girl, though he doesn't scream hormonal teenaged boy either. It's like he has no gender, actually, like actual children, though he's sixteen. I worry that he seems underdeveloped both physically and educationally. Evan is not an idiot, he's actually really bright, able to quickly master anything as long as it's properly explained and to make rather astounding leaps of logic that lead him naturally to the next step of any reflection, such as deducing the culprit of the murder on the third chapter of our English assignment, to my undying amusement. However, it's like his education stopped years ago, putting him behind all our yearmates despite his best efforts, even his pop-culture is so lacking and outdated it can't all be explained by his being British.

After a few days, he invites me to keep him company at his evening job, since I comment again on how little I want to go home. He cooks at the local diner, and sitting in a corner of the old kitchen, I can tell that he's good at what he does, though he doesn't particularly enjoy it. He effortlessly converses with me as he works, delicious smells wafting from his pots and pans and masking perfectly the human aroma from the other room.

It all lulls me into a sense of peace I had lost for months, a peace I jealously guard from my mind-reading brother.

Even as he cooks, he has me read him aloud our textbooks and assigned readings; we rarely ever speak of our respective pasts or even homelife, but even then, we get to know each other rather well, without the inconvenience of having to lie to keep our secrets.

Day after day, his emotions lighten up, his loneliness no longer so crushing I feel like weeping for him. I find out that Evan is a genuinely kind and selfless person who wishes he could single-handedly make the world a better place for everyone. This is an amazing personality to behold, when one is an empath aged a century and a half who's only memories are that of war, or backwater little towns with assorted backwater little humans. Evan makes me want to better myself in a way unrelated to my nutrition source, he makes me feel like I can be good in other ways than repeating high-school in an infinite, hellish loop and feeding on deers, which doesn't actually make me good, just tamed and contained.

The only thing I can think of doing to repay that incredible feeling is constantly coat Evan in a bubble of happiness, but this happiness is artificial, so I refrain, opting instead to look for ways to truly make him happy. My presence has to suffice for now.

It doesn't take too long for me to notice an oddness to my friend beside his temporary feminity: twice, from the corner of my vision, I noticed his face… flickering, for lack of a better term. For a fraction of a second, Evan would have a completely different face, a beautiful one at that. Were I not a vampire, I would believe it a trick of the light, or of my brain, but it's not possible, so the only conclusion is that Evan hides his face, possibly his gender, someway, for some reason.

It is both curious, and once more, worrying. What, or who, is my dear new friend hiding from?

Then one rainy September day, as Evan unpacks his homemade lunch in our spot in the library, he gives me an aluminum-wrapped parcel.

"It's… it's a brownie, I made it just for you, a special recipe. I know you don't usually eat lunch, but I'd like if you at least tasted it, tell me if it's really terrible?..."

I can't refuse his gift, and I refuse to lie to him. Bracing myself for the taste of ashes and dirt all foods have for my species, I take a whiff of a bite-sized piece of cake. The powerful aroma of black chocolate and sugar hits me, a hint of cinnamon that reminds me of Evan's natural smell, and something truly mouth-watering… something…

I put it in my mouth.

Tastes long-forgotten and mourned explode on my tongue, ripping a moan from me. I keep munching and groaning in ecstasy until not even a chocolate crumb is left in the crumpled aluminum, and I find myself sucking on my fingerpads while directing wide eyes at my companion.

"I… I mixed it with pork blood and just a few drops of my blood… is it alright? I couldn't find better than pork at the butcher's… did you taste the chocolate?"

"Darlin's, this… this is amazing," I whisper. "I thought I'd never get to taste chocolate again, and it was already a rare treat back in the day… how did you know?"

"Well, I learned about vampires, werewolves and such in my old school. I admit, the amber eyes threw me for a loop there, then I theorised that maybe it's a family trait in your vampire line… I hope I didn't do something wrong?"

"Oh darlin'… you did nothing wrong, this was the best gift anyone ever gave me, I have no idea how to repay it!"

"You don't have to repay anything! I did it because I wanted to help, and you do so much for me, tutoring me, keeping me company, never pushing to have answers when I know you have questions… you do so much for me, Jasper, I don't know what I'd do without you, I'd probably turn mad out of loneliness. You might have saved me the first time you decided to follow me here."

"Well, you might have saved me from losing all sense as well, so I say we're even."

Evan brings me something for lunch every day, and supplies me with a steady supply of candies laced with his blood that I suckle on all day, facilitating my restraint when surrounded by walking meals at all time. I never felt so in-control of my thirst, and I haven't felt so satiated since the last time I slipped in Illinois. After a while, I notice my unnaturally bright amber eyes darkening to a warm golden-whiskey tone, the hint of red given by human blood blending with the usual yellow of my coven. When Carlisle notices it, he immediately sends me out to hunt, believing it to be the darkening color of thirst and fearing I'd snap at Bella sitting at the piano with Edward.

I instead spend the day on a cliff, watching the waves of the Pacific crash on the coast, thinking of bringing Evan to see the sights one day and mourning the fact that I'll have to wait the end of the week-end to see him again as he doesn't work on Sundays.

I feel Rosalie and Em's curiosity for days before they finally decide to stalk me on my lunch date. Emmett's giggling is far from subtle where his hulking mass hides between the stacks. Evan smirks at me until my sister joins us, asking in a harsh whisper:

"Jasper, what are you putting in your mouth!"

Evan and I freeze, me with my cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk with delicious apple-lemon pie, him with wide frightened eyes as he thinks Rosalie is by far the most intimidating of my coven. My gaze goes from one sibling from another, before I wordlessly, and grudgingly, hold out the piece I was happily munching on to my brother.

Ever adventurous, Emmett takes a bite.

"Hmm!" he moans lustfully. "Oh my God, that's awesome! Have some, Rosie!"

She can't keep the groan in either.

"What's that? How is it possible?" she asks, eyeing what's left of my pie avidly.

"Apple pie. Evan makes me lunch every day, I barely even need to hunt anymore," I whisper, taking note of the sharp spike of fear from my sister. "He tries recipes with pork blood and a little bit of his own for flavor; and before you ask, I didn't tell him anything, Evan is just very smart and decided to try to help me."

The toes of my shoe stroke soothingly my friend's calf as I flood the area with calmness.

"I… I can make you and your mate something too if you want, miss Hale… would you like some candy? Jasper thinks those very useful during classes…"

"I'm not completely certain Evan is entirely human," I whisper too low for his ears. "His blood is different, and there are other strange occurrences…"

Evan looks to me with interrogating eyes hidden behind huge broken glasses, knowing I said something even if not what. I gently pet his hand while battling Em for the last piece of pie. Rosalie huffs in acceptance, grabbing the tin of candy Evan gifts her with a short thanks before stalking out, her husband and the precious leftover cake on her elegant heels.

That night, she asks why I even made the acquaintance of my friend and stuck around long enough for him to figure us out. I answer that the others adopted a stray human girl without caring about anyone's preoccupations, so why wouldn't I do the exact same thing?

My human is so much better than theirs, too.

Emmett guffaws at that, thankfully Edward and Alice are hunting and Carlisle still held up at the hospital. Only Esme putters around the kitchen, and I catch a faint spike of worry from her, but I believe I can trust her not to reveal what she knows, or at least to only inform Carlisle.

With little time, Rosalie warms up to Evan; the boy knows how to actually treat a lady like her, with admiration, respect and unholy fear, and between that and his daily bribe of pastries and sweets, she actually starts to like him, as much as an Alpha hyena might like a puny, male maybe-human.

That is, until Evan randomly starts menstruating again, bringing unasked questions on our side, and self-consciousness on his.

"Darlin', you know there's nothing to feel awkward about, right? It's perfectly natural, though we all wonder how you don't register as female any other time, it's none of our business if you don't want to say anything, and there's nothing to feel embarrassed about."

"I… I don't even know who or what I am anymore, I always thought I was a boy, even though I sometimes wished I wasn't, but now I just don't know… I guess I'm scared of whatever's happening to me, and I didn't realise it was so painful to be female on top of everything else…"

With time, tidbits of my friend's secrets slip through, but it's only when my siblings and I decide to escape the Bella Show and track down our own human that I finally get answers to so many interrogations.

Like us, Evan lives on the outskirts of town, up a little path among the thick trees hiding his home from inexistent neighbors; unlike us, Evan lives in a modest little house with only an attic above the ground floor, not even a garage to boast.

Also, the back half of the house has burned, and the rest has obviously been abandoned since years, wildlife taking back its space between crumbling walls.

My friend lives alone in an abandoned, mostly destroyed house, with only the rickety kitchen and moldy living-room unexposed to the elements, and only because he scraped together some wooden planks to close the former corridor leading to what must have been the bedrooms. He lives on whatever money he makes by working at the diner, and what he manages to cultivate in his garden, which is the only thing somewhat tamed and beautiful in this place, thriving with fruits and vegetables.

He has no electricity, and must wash either in the kitchen sink with cold water, or at the gym at school. There's a pile of ratty blankets making a nest in the biggest kitchen cupboard, showing where he sleeps, the best place to keep warm and dry.

And all these weeks, Evan has been making special lunches for three ravenous vampires, using the food he painstakingly cultivated or paid for, selflessly sacrificing his own comfort, maybe even his life, because his garden shouldn't give fruit when winter comes.

Evan wouldn't survive the winter in this place.

Emmett's and Rosalie's horrorstacks onto mine, but it's all washed away by the all-encompassing shame my little friend feels at us seeing his living conditions.

Evan hides his face in his hands, and bursts into tears.

**To be continued...**


	2. Evan Harris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas readers! ⛄⛄⛄

  
**EH**  


  
My life was going to the shitter, plain and simple.  


  
Voldemort was back to life, not that he was really ever gone as far as I was concerned. I witnessed the murder of a schoolmate. I went against an angry mama dragon. My then best friend was a shithead whom I couldn’t trust. Dementors came to Privet Drive and almost sucked the soul out of my cousin. I was put to trial like a criminal for the sin of defending myself and others, not that anyone else gets proper trials as far as I can see. 

  
Dumbledore avoided me like the plague, refusing to give any answers, as if ignorance would protect me when it truly only puts me in even more danger than your average day as a black person in a KKK neighbourhood in Alabama, and that’s when the vicinity doesn’t turn into an active conflict zone. I kept having shit dreams, and kept having my mind raped by an overgrown bully who never got over his teenaged woes and decided to make a child pay for all his past humiliations. 

  
Then, at Christmas, while everyone else was visiting Mr. Weasley, Sirius told me a life-changing secret. One that could either give me a way out of my ongoing nightmare, or spell my doom in one way or another. 

  
James Potter wasn’t my father. Shocking, but it’s not like I remember the man, so no great loss. Maybe it was even a gain on my part. 

  
James Potter was infertile, though he never accepted that his lack of heir might be his own fault. He grew increasingly erratic as time went and his wife remained childless, getting drunk often enough for it to be alarming, growing vicious in his words to the point that his wife and best friend started fearing he’d become physically violent with her. 

  
So Sirius, while afraid to pass on the Black Madness to any offspring, gave his perfectly fertile seed to my mother, jacking off in the bathroom with a magazine while his best friend was passed out drunk several times a week for months until, finally, I was conceived. 

  
Then, once I was big enough to have limbs, he cast a special glamour passed on by the ladies of House Black along with other emergency family magics, a particularly powerful glamour that would make me look like a Potter boy, a worthy heir to James Potter. 

  
The spitting portrait of my father, indeed. It makes me wonder if Draco Malfoy truly is Lucius’ son, or if his mom used that Black glamour on him. 

  
Sirius, my actual father, who truly loved me more than the world despite his insanity aggravated by a decade among dementors, showed me the secret compartment where the ladies’ spell book was hidden in the Black library. 

  
“I marked the page with the glamour and the counter-spell, in case you need it. You have to think about it carefully, removing it will mean that Harry Potter no longer exists, though you’ll still have the inheritance in Gringotts, and whatever you do, you will always be my heir. Now, few things can weaken the glamour, a big surge in your core or a change in your magical signature can do that; those usually happen if you get a creature inheritance as you reach your prime, which could happen because the Blacks have a bunch of creatures and weird magics in the line, and fresh blood, such as your Mom or Tonks’ Dad, make it more likely something will activate. If it happens, you’ll feel the glamour break, and you’ll have to get rid of it as fast as possible. It could interfere with the changes on your body, and that might not end well.” 

  
Those were the last days I got to spend with him. I’m glad I at least appreciated them to the fullest, though now I also have to live with the fact that my father died because of me. 

  
After that Christmas, the next and last time I saw my Papa was in the Department of Mysteries, where he fell through the Veil of Death under my eyes, never to reappear. I will never have a body to say goodbye to, to give proper funerals to, I don’t have a grave to visit. 

  
I don’t even have a picture of him. 

  
This was also the day I got rid of Voldemort. I had just seen my Papa die, murdered just like I remember my Momma; my friends were taken care of by the Order. I had nothing to loose, nothing to fear, I felt calm as the Black Lake in winter, my head clearer than it had been in years, my magic responding eagerly to my every thought; I was at that perfect point of clarity and control, halfway between utter serenity and world-ending wrath. 

  
The exchange of spells was a sight to behold, I was told. 

  
In the end, I bodily jumped at him and methodically brained him with a stray brick fallen from the wall.

  
Now, was the good old non-magical method of murder “the power the Dark Lord knows not”, or was it my complete lack of fear of Death, or was that prophecy uttered by a drunk, fake seer yet another worthless piece of crap, I know not, but it worked. 

  
Until Dumbledore decided it was too easy, not epic enough, whatever. He took me out of the hospital wing before I was even fully healed, apparated me to a little cottage in a forest with a little town a ten minute walk away. He sat me down at the kitchen table of what he called his childhood home, gave me a bag stating it was mine and a cuppa, then started going on and on about horcruxes. How the diary in my second year was one, how there was seven, and if they weren’t all destroyed, Voldemort would keep coming back. 

  
My instincts started going haywire. The tea left a sour aftertaste, there was a heavy perfume permeating the room, some objects were placed strangely. Magic tickled my skin. 

  
Opening the bag, I found Dudley’s cast-offs. 

  
“What the bloody hell are you doing!” I roared, pushing away from the table. 

  
“My boy, I regret to say… there is a horcrux in your scar, that’s how Voldemort could enter your mind. To ensure he doesn’t take over your body, it is better to keep you hidden, away from Death Eaters that might attempt something, and away from all magic. You have to admit, you have grown increasingly unstable along the last few years, I’m afraid being submerged in so much ambient magic as there is in Hogwarts has given the horcrux power…” 

  
“That’s bullshit! I’m a teenager constantly hunted down by things that want to kill me, of course I’m temperamental!” 

  
“Not to worry, my boy, you will be safe here, until I find a way to remove the horcrux from your scar.” 

  
Bullshit, I saw the lie twinkling in his eyes, and he’d just spent half an hour going on about destroying horcruxes, I’m pretty sure he merely means to keep me for last. 

  
When he raised his wand on me, I just reacted. I cracked my chair on his wand arm, he sent me hurling to the opposite wall with a wave of his hand, I jumped out the window and ran like hell. 

  
I heard his voice rise in an unknown language, I was desperate to get as far away as possible. My sensitive magic snapped out of my control. 

  
With a deafening crack, I accidentally disapparated. 

  
I awoke with the sunrise. In front of me, forest everywhere, with taller trees than I’ve ever seen, and green everywhere, obviously not the same forest I was previously in and nothing like what I’ve seen back home, not that I spend my time in British forests. Everything looked clean, wet and alive, it soothed me somewhat. 

  
Behind me, an abandoned, half-burned house, and a path leading to a road. A sleepy little town in sight. 

  
Strangely, no-one I met seemed interested in me, the strange, ill-dressed little wet rat, merely throwing a glance my way then going on their day. I felt insignificant, near invisible. It took me a week to conclude I had some sort of Notice-Me-Not on me. It didn’t take me that long to notice I couldn’t leave the town, trapped in by some ward. I walked all along it, tried to climb over it by way of climbing trees, tried to dig under it, no such luck; it seems to be a perfect sphere around the perimeter I’m allowed in. There isn’t anyone magical around that I’ve seen, not an owl that wasn’t wild, and even if I had memorised Hermione’s phone number, which I haven’t, I wouldn’t trust her not to defer to Dumbledore. 

  
I was trapped in an unknown place with no way to call for help, with only a bagful of Dudley’s old clothes and a couple hundred pound sterling in the bag’s side-pocket. I didn’t know where my wand was, if it even survived the battle at the Ministry, and the one time I risked going to the cops for help, the guy forgot I existed the second he turned around. 

  
You’d think killing Voldemort would be the end of my problems, but nope. I was still being screwed over sideways with glass shards for lube, well and truly buggered. 

  
I learned the town’s name was Forks; this would make the twins snicker for sure. It’s on the Pacific coast of the United States. Guess when I wished to get as far away as possible from Dumbledore, my magic really tried to take me to the other side of the world. Which isn’t supposed to be possible, but whatever, at least I’m not frozen dead on the moon, or drowned in the Pacific Ocean. 

  
I settled in the little abandoned house I landed in front of. There isn’t much as far as creature comforts go, but there is water and gas, a roof over my head and four walls keeping me sheltered, and the soil responds exceptionally well to what little magic I manage to channel through my hands to make things grow to eat. 

  
Every time I scavenge a fruit or vegetable, I save the seeds to make them grow in my wild little corner of the world. Barely a few weeks in, I no longer needed to dumpster-dive for survival, though I still do it because you never know what useful bits and bobs you’ll find in someone else’s trash. 

  
A month and a half after landing, someone finally noticed me: the middle-aged, native matron of the diner saw me forage for leftovers in the backstreet while taking her cigarette break. She’s still forgetful, never thinks to mention me to anyone, never thinks that something might be really wrong with me for long, but she noticed me enough to give me a job as a cook so she won’t do everything alone, and to not forget I work for her, that I’m supposed to be in her kitchens regularly. She gets frustrated sometimes, that something stops her from truly helping me, but still, she pays me in cash every day, and dragged me to the local high school to get me registered, making me promise to attend so I can get away from my situation one day. 

  
Muggle school sure won’t help me with that, I thought, but I promised, so I went. 

  
It didn’t start well at all, as I awoke the day before in a panic, with blood between my thighs and awful cramps in my belly. I still don’t have the slightest idea where the blood comes from at all, it’s dripping from absolutely nowhere, there’s no orifice I can find by sight nor touch, and it’s a bitch to wash off, or contain. 

  
I had the bad idea to bathe in the kitchen sink, except I only have cold water, and apparently cold just makes the cramps so horrible they made me wish I’d die fast. Then, even if I had whatever women use to staunch the flow, I discovered that male genitals are not adapted to make anything easy on that front, so I ended up limping around the muggle school with wads of toilet paper uncomfortably wedged behind my balls. 

  
On the second day, I started feeling weird all morning, like someone else was fighting to replace my emotions with theirs; I wondered for a second if Dumbledore was actually onto something, but dismissed the thought immediately, firstly because if Voldemort was trying to take over my body, he’d do it while inflicting as much pain as possible, not trying to soothe my broken soul, and secondly, I listened to Bill talk about his job before Fourth Year; Gringotts refuses some magics in its hallowed halls and ensures no such items can be stored in the vaults. Horcruxes are not only among the forbidden magics, they are also so deeply despised they are destroyed on the spot. If I were a horcrux, I wouldn’t have survived my eleventh birthday because the goblins would have never let me go alive. 

  
The quiet, tentative peace stroking against my rawness pursued me from my first class all the way to the library during lunch. That’s when I met him. 

  
He who noticed me as if there weren’t any spell on me. He who was trying to appease me. 

  
He’s not human, I knew it from the get-go, though I couldn’t make sense of what he is in the beginning, and his name is no more Jasper Hale than mine is Evan Harris. Despite the little lies we both feel guilty about, we just click together. There are no questions asked, no awkwardness, it just feels good to spend time together, and I just know I’m not the only one to miss my new friend’s company when we are apart. 

  
I was glad to not completely screw it with that brownie; while I was pretty certain of Jasper’s species, the colour of his eyes wasn’t the only thing that threw me in a loop, but I thought that if I was wrong, the worst that would happen would be him thinking my brownie tastes awful. 

  
Turns out Jasper and the others beside the sheriff’s daughter are “vegetarian” vampires, meaning they feed on the local wildlife rather than just on the locals. I hardly see how that makes anything better, seeing as humans are hardly an endangered species, unlike the mountain lions and bears Jasper’s brothers favour. 

  
“Really, if you don’t want to prey on humans, there are blood banks that reject plenty of blood everyday, this is the twenty-first century after all,” I rant at my friend once, to his amusement. “And if animal blood truly makes you all more sociable or whatever, which I’m still not convinced about by the way, then go to the butcher or something, the poor wild fauna is already struggling to survive humanity forever encroaching on their shrinking territory, there’s a reason why there is a hunting season and some species that aren’t to be hunted at all! And if there are benefits to both kinds of blood, why not mix the two like I do for the cakes? For all you know, this way you’ll have all the advantages and none of the drawbacks…” 

  
Jasper does tell me he feels better than ever since I started feeding him. Not only does he get to taste things he’d believed he had lost forever when he was turned, meaning everything but blood, really, but mixing just a few drops of my blood with animal one gives him the illusion of feeding on human, which satiates him in a way an entire grizzly never could. 

  
He’s not painfully thirsty anymore, he feels stronger, in control of himself in a way he hasn’t in decades. He is calm and steady, confident, and the newfound serenity just makes him more gorgeous, softer. 

  
Two of his siblings also become my friends; Rosalie reminds me of a blend between McGonagall and Lady Malfoy, a beautiful, powerful woman who’s mere presence demands respect and obedience, and before whom you can’t help but feel frumpy and inadequate. Thankfully, she seems to appreciate my manners as much as my bribes, and she swiftly warms up to me for someone who seems to detest anyone not in her family. 

  
Her husband on another hand is nothing like a Malfoy, he rather makes me think of a Hagrid-sized Weasley twin with a big dash of Charlie’s nonchalance and charm, he kinda treats me like a cute fluffy pet sometimes, to my utter bewilderment, and otherwise defers to his wife, whom he worships like the goddess she is. I become especially thankful for his presence in sports class, as he cares about explaining the rules to me and tends to shield me from others. 

  
Their continued interest in me stirs me to the conclusion that the Notice-Me-Not I’m cursed with is only intended to work on non-magicals, which would mean Sarah from the diner has at least a tiny little bit of magic in her, which might be explained by the local legend of the Quileute tribe being able to shape-shift into wolves to defend their territory. Having the blood of a shifter but being unable to change herself may do the trick. 

  
I however didn’t expect for the three vampires to knock on the door of my kitchen, my dilapidated little sanctuary. 

  
I think I did rather well for myself here, and pretty much all without magic, I’m not sure any other wizard divested of their wand would have done so well in the same screwed up situation, but still… 

  
I’m basically a homeless person, and I sure live like one. Spending time with Jasper feels so good, he makes me happy, makes me forget for a time, but once I’m home, the hopelessness comes back with a vengeance. 

  
I’m so lonely, and exhausted. My shelter never dries properly, the weather was never the best and it’s starting to get colder as autumn reaches its end. 

  
I’m tired, wet, cold, I don’t have appropriate clothes, I’m lonely here, and I can only pray the magic I seep into the ground will make my garden bear fruit longer than it should or I have no idea how I’ll survive until spring without moving from my quiet home and resorting to thievery. 

  
I’m also in constant pain. At first, I thought it was because Dumbledore took me away from Pomfrey’s care before I could fully heal, but it heightened with time, and then there was the unexplainable period while being male-shaped thing, and Jasper told me he saw my face flicker into another… the glamour Sirius casted before my birth is failing, I might be turning into some unknown creature with no information and no access to a healer, and he said the glamour might interfere badly but the counter-spell is in a book in London… 

I survived Voldemort, escaped Dumbledore, and still, I might die here before ever getting to truly live. 

  
I’m just so tired, and the horror on my friends’ faces at seeing where I live makes me feel ashamed. I don’t even have chairs for them to sit on, and a lady like Rosalie shouldn’t have to smell the mould of my walls, never mind the latrine I dug on the side of the house since I don’t have a functioning bathroom. 

  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” I sob into my hands, unable to look any of them in the eyes. 

  
“Oh Darlin’, don’t be ashamed, you have no reason to be sorry,” Jasper says while enfolding me in his arms. “I had been worried about your living conditions since we met, I should have pried for once, I’m sorry I did nothing. It’s going to be alright now, we’ll help you, don’t cry Darlin’…” 

  
“Should we pack your things? You can come live with us if you want, I promise we won’t let the others say anything to you,” whispers Rosalie, stroking gently my hair. 

  
“N… no, I don’t want to be a bother, and I don’t know the others. I don’t want people to know about me, especially not the sheriff’s daughter…” 

  
“Well, we can buy a place? If there’s nothing in Forks, Port Angeles isn’t that far if we run, we’d still visit you every day,” proposes Emmett. “I wouldn’t mind getting away and having a place to hang out no matter where, though I’ll miss you in school, Tiny.” 

  
“I can’t get out of Forks, I’m trapped here,” I confess. “I tried to get out or get help for months when I arrived, but it’s like I’m nearly invisible and completely forgettable, I guess it doesn’t work so well on you because you’re vampires, you have perfect senses and a perfect memory, you can’t forget me so easily.” 

  
“You mean like a magic curse?” 

  
“It is magic, yes. I’m a wizard, I learned about vampires and everything else in a magic school, along with casting spells with a wand and flying on a broom and anything weird you can think of. Someone wanted to trap me with a ritual, but I escaped and landed here, on the other side of the world, only me teleporting in the middle of the ritual must have screwed it up. There’s a ward, like an energy shield, keeping me inside, and a spell that makes me unnoticeable, and I have other problems pending as well.” 

  
“And you can’t use magic to get out, or get help or something?” 

  
“Well, I’m still supposed to be in school, I don’t know that much, not enough to break whatever ward this is. If I had my wand, I could repair the house and make my life really easier even if I’m more specialised in battle magic than household spells, but I came with nothing but clothes. I can only do a bit of wandless magic, like a bit of… telekinesis, I guess, a bit of cleaning, and making my garden grow fast and give lots of food, but otherwise I can’t do much right now, and even if I had access to my bank account, I can’t go to a hardware store to buy what I need to renovate my home…” 

  
Jasper pets me through the fresh tears, unbothered. He’s actually heard of the magical community before, so this isn’t as much of a surprise as it could be, though vampires who weren’t wizards before don’t tend to mingle with the rest of us. 

  
I tell them what I know of MACUSA, the American magical government, which isn’t much, and that the Aurors might help me, or find someone who can, if Dumbledore hasn’t convinced everyone I’m some kind of criminal. That even if that’s not safe, finding a magical post office would go a long way to help me: I could sent a letter to someone I trust to get me the book in the Black library, which would mean the twins, and get them to contact Gringotts for me if Dumbledore hasn’t meddled with my accounts. 

  
They decide to try to find the wizards in Seattle this week-end, and should they fail, Emmett and Rosalie promise to go to New York next week since the only magical location I’m sure of in the country is MACUSA’s headquarters. 

  
“I’ll get you some warm clothes,” promises Rosalie. “We’ll get you what you need to make this place a little more liveable if you’re so hell-bent on staying, but if this house is not up to my standards by the time it snows, I don’t care what you say, I’ll find you another place. Really, it’s too bad our home is on the other side of that ward.” 

  
We spend the rest of the night theorising what might hide under that glamour, what I might turn into. Emmett has the funniest, most outlandish propositions, Jasper only says the face he saw under mine was beautiful, though the glasses still hid half of it. I find myself just wishing I’ll turn into a pretty girl, no matter what other weirdness might come of it. 

  
I’d noticed early on that people are nicer to pretty girls. They get complimented, helped by strangers when in need, forgiven easily when doing something wrong. No one expects them to play rough, anyone doing so with them get yelled at, and they get sweets and soft things and their mere sight makes people smile. 

  
I wish I had all that. 

  
It’s embarrassing to admit it to the others, but my red face only makes Jasper chuckle and kiss my brow while his brother starts raving on princess dresses, something for which he seems to have a particular affection for some reason. 

  
“Don’t worry, no matter what hides under this awful tangle of hair, I’ll make sure you’re pretty,” Rosalie scoffs. “After all, I don’t see why Alice should be the only one getting to play dress-up with a living doll.” 

  
When they leave for Seattle before dawn even peaks, I feel better than ever. It will be alright. 

Jasper promised, after all. 

  
**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review, that would be the only gift I get today =(


	3. Jasper Whitlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Apparently I’m utterly incapable of waiting a full week before giving ya'll a new chapter. This was supposed to be your new year gift but, oh, well… *shrug*

  
**JW**  


  
“You know what I think is weird?” Emmett asks as Rosalie drives. 

  
“You mean besides the whole magic trap and wizard thing?” 

“That’s weird too, but not much weirder than vampires or Jazz and Eddie’s powers. No, it’s Alice. How come she didn’t see any of _that_ coming? I don’t believe for one second she wouldn’t be nosy if she had a single inkling!” 

“… you’re not wrong…” 

“I don’t think she sees any of that,” I interject. “Firstly, because she theorized that she doesn’t see the wolves because she’s never been one or something alike, so it would make sense she doesn’t sees wizards or any other species either.” 

“And secondly?” 

“Because she doesn’t pay attention to anything but Edward and Bella, these days. Focusing on something does make her miss out on the visions that come more naturally, just as focusing on one person makes Edward and I mostly block out the rest.” 

Rosalie snorts. 

Once in Seattle, we spread out to cover more ground, hoping the diverse hiding magics really don’t work on vampires even if we weren’t magical as humans. 

It’s only on Saturday evening that Em alerts me about finding a dive-bar full of non-humans, there’s even bagged blood on the menu. I find him experimenting the mixing of A-negative with beer with the barmaid under the interested eyes of two other vampires presently sipping bourbon with iced blood cubes. 

“And you have no problem digesting these cakes your friend makes?” asks one. 

“Nope. Well, it’s a bit weird to have to poop for the first time since you were turned, but you get used to it after a while. I actually don’t remember having ever eaten chocolate when I was human, now I can’t live without! Chocolate is awesome!” 

“Damn, anyway I can get your friend to hand over the recipes or come work here? Bagged is all well and good, but most vamps either hunt humans or have their own contacts to get blood, but if I can make ya’ll taste baked goods, I’d murder the competition!” sighs the barmaid. 

“I’ll ask for the recipes, or maybe he’ll prefer to sell his goods already baked, everyone’s gotta make a living, ya know.” 

“Hear, hear. I’d buy either way, I’m still the one with the most diverse clientele around here. Lemme give ya my contacts, I do electronics as well as owls so anything is good.” 

We learn that British wizards are somewhat seen as a joke on the international scale, so no-one this side of the world much cares what their Ministry or their vaunted old guru has to say, even though he used to be the “Supreme Mugwump” of their International Confederation. 

Magical areas tend to breed their own specialties. China is the best at Healing, Africa as a whole makes an astounding number of animagi and other animal shifters, in South America, there are animal speakers, in the Himalayas, they pretty much become one with nature and consequently can shape it easily, Australia is forever the cradle of anything weird and wacky be it magical or not and constantly has new species coming out of nowhere. 

In the British Isles, the specialty is raw power. A wizard considered average there would be powerful anywhere else, a British elite fighter would be amazingly brutal here, and worse, there is regularly someone born with a level of magic that goes above and beyond completely insane, such as Dumbledore and Voldemort, and probably little Harry Potter too. 

Harry Potter, otherwise known as Evan Harris, sixteen year old homeless person who has anyone in this bar uttering his name in either amazement at the possibilities or fright at the idea of meeting him and possibly pissing him off. After all, Dumbledore and Voldemort are old news, one knows what to expect if ever interacting with them, but very little is known about the new kid in the block, what his views are, how bad his temper is, how he’d react to a situation. He wouldn’t be the first brit to light an establishment such as this one on fire for no other reason that it’s full of so-called “dark creatures”. 

Because apparently, being the powerhouse of the planet robbed the whole community of any common sense, so much that despite how scary they could be, they’ve long been the laughing stock of the playground, seen as backward and overall ridiculous and more than slightly insane. Not only are they closed-off from the rest of the world by their laws, refusing access to many species and rejecting advancements and knowledge not found by their own, no-one wants anything to do with them either, their sheer arrogance clearly despised by leaders everywhere. 

This all at least reassures me about my friend’s safety should we alert MACUSA about his situation. After a few inquiries, I’m directed to an old, elegant man drinking in a corner with a much frumpier companion animatedly ranting at him with erratic waves of the hands. 

“Mister Graves? I’m told you used to be the director of Magical Security at MACUSA, I believe I stumbled on a situation that might interest you…” 

“Indeed I was, though I’ve retired a long time ago. What would a vampire need my help with?” 

On Sunday morning, mister Percival Graves and his enthusiastic husband Newt, owner of a magical beasts reserve and healing home near the Canadian border, teleport with me to Evan’s shelter while my siblings take the time to shop in Seattle. I didn’t expect my friend’s eyes to widen in slight hero-worship when introduced to the old, strange redhead who’s apparently a famous brit himself, though not for the same reasons as usual. 

As mister Graves questions Evan, which I keep an ear out for just in case it upsets him, I observe Newt whipping out a wooden wand to clean, isolate and repair the living-room, create a functioning bathroom on one side, then take a tour outside while casting more spells on the walls coating them in fresh paint and renovating the roof, then bound back inside to excitedly babble at his amused husband about the marvelous garden in which a family of fairies he knows would feel right at home. 

Then comes the question of how my friend got rid of Britain’s latest Dark Lord since the specificities haven’t filtered out. 

“Well…” Evan hesitates, fidgeting nervously, “we had mostly destroyed the Ministry Atrium while flinging spells at each other and it was getting nowhere on either side, so I… well, I jumped him between two curses and brained him with a brick… I’m pretty sure he’s dead this time…” 

Percival snorts. 

Then he explodes in hilarity while his husband reddens with a pout and Evan startles with wide eyes. 

“It’s not that funny!” 

“Oh Newt, baby…” the older man snickers as he catches his breath back. “What is it with you brits… no-one else sees a Dark Lord and thinks it’s a good idea to throw a rock at them…” 

“It seemed perfectly logical at the time! Thank Merlin everyone else remembers me for writing books and not for throwing rocks at Grindelwald when I lost my wand…” 

“Are you certain you’re not related?” 

“I’m a Black, I’m related to every pureblood in Britain,” giggles Evan, at ease with his new guests. 

This comment leads to them discussing how to contact someone in Britain, which Newt arranges easily as he is in cahoots with nearly every magizoologist and animal reserves in the world, notably by sharing communicating cupboards with a French potionist. 

“I’ll put your letter in the cupboard, and Étienne will send it by normal owl, Normandie is just in sight of England so no need for international courier, those are always inspected by the Ministry anyway. You should have your answer in the next few days, Percy will bring it to you!” 

At the end of the day, it is concluded that the ritual keeping Evan trapped is another specialty of the Blacks, a ward made to keep their most insane members away from society so they won’t shame the House or harm anyone while still being visited by relatives, cared for by house-elves and overall kept in the lap of luxury out of sight. While skewered a bit, either on purpose or by Evan “disapparating” in the middle of it, it is still essentially the same and can be broken by someone with Black blood, which would be Newt, though not before an entire year is up. 

Evan can’t get a wand and practice magic with one, either, because he’s still registered as underage in his country and could easily be tracked this way. 

“However,” comments Percival, “any kind of wandless magic wouldn’t be registered.” 

“I can’t do much wandless magic, though. Only _accio_ and _wingardium_ _leviosa_ and make my garden grow…” 

“Well, that’s already amazing, especially since Hogwarts banned the teaching of wandless magic long before you went there. But branches such as potions and runic magic don’t need wands either, you could always work with that. There’s nothing a wand can do that a runic array cannot, after all, though it demands another kind of thinking process.” 

“Percy could teach you, he does nothing but being a lazy old retiree anyway, I’m sure you can bribe him with pastries!” 

“Baby, are you trying to make me fat?” 

“I wouldn’t be against a more comfortable waistline to grab on when we’re being randy old codgers, if you catch my drift.” 

“Bloody hell, is that what parents sex feels like when you’re the kid?” 

“And to think of all this time I waste staying in shape for you, and you’d rather I be fat…” 

“Oh Percy-dear, you know I love how fit you are, everyone wishes we could look that good at nearly a hundred and thirty, but it doesn’t mean I won’t still love you if you indulge your sweet tooth more often… think about it this way: we can work it out in the bedroom.” 

“Parent sex! Virgin ears!” 

My siblings, whom I’ve kept abreast of the happenings all day, come back with a trunk-full of soft blankets, bedding sets and towels, kitchenware and cute, warm clothes androgynous enough to be fine whether or not Evan turns into a girl. Emmett drives a rental truck filled with furnitures, notably a big, comfortable bed Newt builds up with a wave of the wand in a corner of the freshly renovated living-room. 

Evan tears up at the plump brown leather couch and armchairs, not having anything for guests to sit on really bothered him. A raw wood rustic coffee table soon boasts an exquisitely rounded clay tea-set and an assortment of baked goods for every taste. 

He’s so happy to be able to play host properly, fluttering around in joy, his cheeks flushed pink from the many praises, it makes me giddy. I love seeing him like this when, less than two days ago, he was crumbling under the weight of his sorrows. 

This one wasn’t born to be alone and forgotten in a cupboard. 

Evan was always supposed to shine in a pretty home, surrounded by friends, flushed with life and happiness. That’s what I want to give. 

Monday, after Evan’s shift at the diner, we come back to a parcel waiting on the coffee table, the famous book of Black family spells and rituals, and a note saying Percival will come back tomorrow morning to break the glamour. We both decide to miss classes for the day, just in case Evan isn’t in any shape to attend, and preparing for him to have to get used to a whole new body. 

It’s not like anyone will notice he’s missing, and no-one cares if a Cullen skips school, we have the best grades anyway. Alerted, Rosalie warns she’ll be visiting for lunch and make another shopping trip after classes for clothes, threatening with bodily harm if she is not duly bribed for her efforts. 

I stay the night, reading the spellbook while Evan sleeps peacefully on his last few hours as Harry Potter, warm and comfortable in his brand new bed. And my, aren’t these Blacks a vicious bunch, nothing in common with the Quileute ones; vengeance seems to be an ongoing theme, though some of these could be incredibly useful in different situations, such as the curse turning everything organic in a given container into fertilizer. 

Recycling household trash would become so much easier. 

Weren’t I a vampire, it would be with bated breath that I’d watch Percival walk around Evan, twirling his dark wand and muttering under his breath. Slowly, my friend’s appearance seems to drip away; the dull brown hair, tangled and dry, turn into luscious black corkscrew curls, though still dry and in need of a good cut, eyebrows and lashes thicken and arch up over closed eyes. The abruptly square jaw melts into a thin-boned face, with cutting sharp high cheekbones and the upturned button nose straightens. Lips grow plumper, skin lightens. 

I can’t see what changes under the oversized hoodie and sweats, but that’s either a beautiful girl, or an angelic androgynous boy. 

Wide eyes, green as emeralds, that I never saw clearly under the old glasses, open. 

We both gasp. 

“You’re gorgeous!” 

Percival and I snort. 

“I’m pretty sur I’m the one supposed to say that, Darlin’. I don’t look any different than I did an hour ago, or a century ago for that matter.” 

“It’s just… I didn’t see _that_ clearly with the glasses, and without I’m mostly blind as a bat… but hey! I can see without glasses! Now _that's_ awesome!” Evan chants, twirling around the room. “Wow, I feel great! A lot less sore than usual… I feel like my body is… finally what it was always supposed to be, you know? I don’t feel clumsy, out of balance… maybe I can actually dance without it ending in a disaster now! How do I look?” 

“As beautiful as a veela, but without the blond hair. Now come back here, I’m no healer but I spent enough time with Newt to learn a thing or two. Were your parents pint-sized too?” 

“No, Papa was over six feet tall, and Momma was above average from what I’ve seen in the pictures I had. Guess my childhood doomed me to remain short forever,” Evan huffs. “I hope the lack of food didn’t give me a bunch of other problems, too.” 

“Hmm… well, you _are_ underweight even for your size, you should take a nutrition potion along with your meals for a while; a sip of skele-gro wouldn’t hurt either, to strengthen your bones, don’t make that face, you don’t want to know how often aurors have to take a full dose of the shit, or people in the general vicinity of Newt Scamander and his beasts. Otherwise, I believe a general heavy duty healing potion will do the trick, but you should see an actual healer. I can bring one this afternoon and get the potions in Newt’s cupboard.” 

“Thank you! I’ll make biscuits for when you come back, I’ll make them ginger, you and Newt can be randy old men all you want! And ew, I can’t believe I said that…” 

Our new friend chuckles on his way out, teleporting with a sharp crack. 

Evan goes to take a long, warm shower, letting out bursts of joy, then taking care to put the oil my sister bought in his hair, making them shiny and soft, wafting a warm macadamia smell. He bounds back in the living-room in his new, deep green cashmere sweater, showing off two tiny mounds on his chest. 

“So, Darlin’, I take it you got your wish to turn into a pretty princess?” I ask fondly between two yips of pure, incoherent happiness. 

“Y… yes. You think I’m pretty? You think I’ll be a good girl?” 

“Of course Darlin’, I might not know what a veela is, but I can tell you even Rose won’t scoff at walking by your side. If it weren’t for your heartbeat and wonderful green eyes, you’d fool a vampire into thinking you’re one of us, an exceptionally beautiful one at that. You’ll be the envy of many, and I’ll have to beat men away with a bat when they notice you.” 

These words provoke a growl to rise in my throat. I don’t like the idea of anyone lusting after _my_ little beauty. Evan gives me a knowing look. 

“Prettier than Alice? We look alike, after all.” 

“You look nothing alike, Darlin’. Alice can only pray to rise to your level, and no god will listen to her, I promise.” 

“So… could you love me? Like you loved her? I’m no longer a boy…” 

Hope blooms around him… her, laced with fear and apprehension. 

“Darlin’, I don’t care whether you’re male or female, human or not, as long as you’re you. You already make me happier and more at peace than Alice has in fifty years. I might not have thought of you in a lustful manner yet, but I’m empathic enough with myself to know I’ve loved you for a while, even though I cannot point when it started. However you want me, I’ll thrive staying in your life.” 

“Lust… there might be something wrong with me, because I never felt that for anyone… but I want to be yours.” 

“We have time for that, sweet one, just remember to mention that to the healer. Now, how about I help you choose a new name?” 

Rosalie comes in her red convertible, tape measure and pointy scissors in her handbag. She hugs our newly named Dawn, then settles to cut her hair while discussing dressing styles and shoes. As she leaves after turning Dawn’s mess of curls into a deep-slanted bob cut, she throws over her shoulder: 

“Thank you for the brownie, dear. Now do convince Jasper to get rid of that ridiculous lion’s mane he calls hair, will you? Knife-sheared cuts might have been a thing in the Confederate Army, but no-one sees _that_ and thinks “major” nowadays, it’s awful no matter what Alice says!” 

Dawn giggles as I sheepishly finger the longish strands. 

“D’you think it’s awful, Darlin’? I am slightly worried short hair won’t suit me, since vampire hair don’t grow back, but I heard you and Rose discussing this hair-growth potion…” 

“It’s a sight better that what I had this morning for sure, but short hair would look… I don’t know, cleaner? More serious, neater? Then again, wizards aren’t known for their sense of style, me least of all, so I’m afraid it’s up to you.” 

“Style isn’t really my thing either, I just learned to comply to the ladies around me.” 

The healer stays for over an hour, drawing a nutrition plan and concluding that the glamour must have stunted Dawn’s growth by blocking the hormones and preventing puberty, as it forced her into the wrong gender. This explains part of the lack of size, the lateness of the first period, and also the lack of sexual awareness. Dawn basically just started teenagehood a few months ago, years later than she should have, and might never grow into womanhood as well as she should. 

“Well, I’d long made my peace with being a shorty, I just hope I’ll get some curves and boobs at some point…” 

“Yes, having children might be a problem with hips that narrow, though the hormone supplement I’ve given you should help you take back some of the time you’ve lost. It’s lucky your glamour broke before you reached full adulthood, otherwise it would be much more complicated to straighten it all up, and as a man you would have been infertile, or possibly ended up pregnant if taking a male partner and risked your life and that of the baby, even a half-vampire one.” 

“Vampires aren’t infertile?” I splutter. 

“Oh no, not the male ones such as yourself. Technically, the females aren’t either, it’s just that no-one found a way to… unfreeze the area enough to carry to term, for lack of better word. Not that many researchers bother to look into it.” 

I look at Dawn with wide eyes. 

“… Rosalie is going to throw a fit if she hears about that…” 

I can’t even think about myself possibly becoming a father one day, I’m not ready for the thought right now. This day is a gift of strangeness that just keeps on giving. 

Though, the hopeful twinkle in Dawn’s green gaze is a sight for sore eyes. 

I lace my fingers through hers, smiling softly. 

One day, I’ll give her everything. 

“Now that you are officially no longer Harry Potter, you need a new identity. Did you think of a full name?” asks Percival after the departure of the healer, straightening up a stack of papers. 

“Yes, Jasper helped me. I’ll take my real father’s name of Black, and follow both their naming tradition of celestial names and my mother’s side tradition of flower names to honour them both. From this day on, I am Dawn Lila Black. If I can change my birthdate, I’d like to make it today, the day I am reborn into a new life, even if it won’t actually make me seventeen until July.” 

“Very well, Dawn Lila Black, born on October 29th, 1990. Happy birthday. If you would put a thumbprint with your blood here, here, and here, I can get you registered both in MACUSA and Gringotts. It will alert the goblins of your situation and they will open a new account under this name in the Seattle branch. I’ll need a letter for them, too, and they’ll probably want to visit to ascertain the truth, as you can’t go to them yet. They’ll gladly do it if it means unfreezing the famous Black accounts, frozen vaults don’t reap any benefits.” 

“Greedy buggers would do anything for gold,” she agrees with a nod. 

“Now, I’m aware it’s not an actual birthday gift, but Newt received another package for you today. I checked, there’s no tracking spell and nothing harmful. Have a nice day, you two, I have to bring these ginger cookies to my husband to see if it’s actually a good aphrodisiac, not that the twerp needs it.” 

“Ew! Virgin girl’s ears!” 

“You made the cookies, sweetheart, blame yourself,” he mocks as he hugs her goodbye. 

“Alright, but don’t pull a muscle, old man! Damn, what are your shoulders made of, oakwood?” 

“You’re never too old to keep fit.” 

The package contains a simple cardboard box, its expanded space filled to the brim with leather-bound books and a little handwritten note. 

“Oh good gods… the twins sent me the entire Black library! They stole everything, the others are going to be so furious when they find out,” she cackles gleefully. “No matter how much they all go on about the Blacks being dark wizards, I know they’ve all enjoyed having access to all this knowledge, some of these are unique original copies!” 

“What does the note say?” 

“That they were preparing to go out and explore the world, look for fresh inspiration, and take stock of the international market, and just happened to stumble upon some lost items of mine and a grumpy owl in their younger siblings rooms while packing, so they’re making a detour wherever I am on their jaunt… damn, did Ron and Ginny just go and appropriate my things after I disappeared? What the bloody hell…” 

Dawn’s shift at the diner then Rose and Emmett’s arrival swiftly distract her from her dark thoughts about her former friends, as my siblings, alerted by myself, came to spend the night with their car loaded with not only the fruit of Rosalie’s shopping spree, but also homewarming gifts and a birthday cake. 

“Emmett, that’s very thoughtful of you, but I still don’t have electricity here so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with a telly or a gigantic fridge…” 

“We spoke about buying a place for you before, why not this one? We can do all the work to get the house back on the grid faster that any human building team, it wouldn’t be the first time we build a place from scratch!” 

“Oh no, you are absolutely not buying me the house! I have money, I’ll be able to access it soon, and you’re already spending way too much on me!” 

“Except you’re not old enough to buy an estate even if you just aged yourself several months. Let me buy you the house, Darlin’, you can give me back the money if that is your wish, and try to let us spoil you a bit. Material luxuries are nothing compared to the gift you’ve been feeding us for weeks, you deserve to be spoiled, and it would please us to do it.” 

“… alright, but don’t go too far! I’ve no use for diamond necklaces or sport cars I can’t even drive!” 

Em and I chuckle at that, remembering Edward’s insistence at making Bella wear ostentatious, old fashioned jewelry. 

We spend the evening drawing plans for how Dawn wants the house to look like after we find a few books of construction magic among her new collection. As her twin friends will come visit soon if their note is to be believed, she wants to ask them to renovate her home with magic, to make something really special where she will feel she belongs. 

She’s very close to nature, as shown by her wild, thriving garden, she’d like her home to reflect this, turn it into a giant, lived-in greenhouse, open an full of greenery and natural light. As she goes to sleep, warm and happy once more, Rose and I settle on the coffee table to draw the future of this place that, less than two days ago, was a rotted, drafty horror story waiting to happen, with her mate alternating between leafing through the books and injecting a few ideas. 

Come Friday, Percival brings by two young, identical, red-headed men in dashing tailored pinstriped suits, one in dark blue, the other in purple. Watching them finish each other’s sentences and thoughts, I wonder how anyone could mistake Rose and I for twins. They bring with them a gorgeous snowy owl who doesn’t waste a second before landing on Dawn’s shoulder to start grooming her fluffy curls into order, intermittently sending suspicious glares my way through narrowed golden eyes. 

Fred and George, or Gred and Forge, as they introduce themselves, take their “favorite icky little brother” turning into a “favorite icky little sister” in stride, completely unfazed by any ambient weirdness. They nonchalantly explain it away by being genius pranksters always looking to create surprise and bewilderment, and by Dawn always ending up doing the impossible so turning into a girl is barely even worth a “meh”. 

They enthusiastically demand a fashion show, throw compliments liberally, exchange ideas to create or improve magical beauty products, crow at the initiative of selling ready-made pastries for vampires, and bemoan missing Dawn’s birthday earlier this week, but promise a special gift soon. 

“Dawnikins, what’s this on your forearm? Did you…” 

“… go and get yourself tattooed without waiting…” 

“… for your adventurous big brothers to share the experience?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, it was there when the glamour broke. I looked in the books about magical inheritances, as Papa told me that’s what was the most susceptible to break it, but I have no idea what it is…” 

“Now, where…” 

“… have I seen this? It looks…” 

“… familiar…” 

Percival takes a look, and promptly chokes on his mouthful of île flottante. The marks indeed look like two identical black tattoos inside the forearms, but like Dawn, I never saw it anywhere. 

A circle inside a triangle bisected by a line. 

“That’s Grindelwald’s sigil!” 

“What? Why would I have Grindelwald’s sigil written on my body? Are you sure?” Dawn asks with a cutely scrunched nose. 

“I was the man’s prisoner for months, and Newt made him miserable enough for him to target my crazy husband personally, of course I’m sure!” 

“Maybe, but that’s not…” 

“… where we have seen that. Actually, didn’t old Xeno wear it?” 

“Yeah! And Krum got angry at him…” 

“… at Bill’s wedding! Because Grindelwald used it, but he didn’t…” 

“… create it. It’s much older than that!” 

“Wait, Bill got married? Not important, so what’s this mark?” 

“That’s the symbol of the Deathly Hallows!” both twins exclaim in unison. 

Seeing our lack of awareness about the old wizard tale, Percival launches himself into the retelling of the dark legend of three brothers having defied Death itself and each getting a gift in return. The eldest asked for power in the form of a wand made of elder wood, and died before the next sunrise. The second demanded his lost love, whom visited him as a ghost when called by a stone, and killed himself before the year was up. 

The youngest asked for a way to hide from all, even Death, whom grudgingly fashioned part of its shroud into a cloak of invisibility. Year after year, Death looked for the last brother that defied him with no result, the mortal using his cloak to escape all dangers coming his way, until he grew old and passed on his cloak to his son, greeting Death as an old friend and departing life as equals. 

“… it is said that a mortal who’d master all three Deathly Hallows would become the Master of Death, but I doubt that means what most would think, or that it’s possible at all. How could someone who doesn’t know Death master it? People wanting immortality or power over death are usually the ones most afraid of it.” 

“Yeah, and what would it even entail? Death comes for all things, it has to, otherwise what’s the point of living if there’s no end? Is the Master supposed to do all the paperwork, or what?” 

“Well, what we can say is that Grindelwald…” 

“… and Dumbledore believe in it. When you took off, our esteemed…” 

“… headmaster started raging that he lost…” 

“… the wand he took from Grindelwald in their…” 

“… last duel, which happens to be made…” 

“… of elder wood!” 

“Huh, so maybe the items at the origin of the story exist in a way. What about the cloak, what makes it so special compared to every other invisibility cloak out there? Didn’t it just enter the legend for being the first of its kind or something?” 

“It’s very special because the third brother owned it for years and passed it down from one generation to another,” explains Percival. “I’ve seen many invisibility cloaks along the decades. Some are made with spells, some have runes sewn in the fabric, the best ones are woven from demiguise fur, which prompted the specie’s near extinction until Newt put a stop to it, but none of them can hide you from everything, you’d still be tangible, distort the light surrounding you, make noise, have a smell, and none of them last more than a few years, a decade at the very most. Certainly not long enough to become a family heirloom.” 

Dawn and the twins exchange a look at that. 

“I don’t know what having this symbol written on you might mean, little one, but I suggest you keep them hidden. People like me who have suffered from Grindelwald’s reign of terror will take it badly and put you in the same bag as the madman, and if there are fanatics looking for the Deathly Hallows out there, they might target you.” 

“Fortunately, the weather around here isn’t…” 

“… adapted for short sleeves, moreover we are…” 

“… in the process of creating a whole range of cosmetics…” 

“… that includes a new kind of foundation gel! Now, show your dashing big brothers…” 

“… what you intend to do with this house!” 

By the time Wednesday rolls around, the house is fully finished. I’d signed the ownership papers by way of Mr. J the day after Dawn agreed to let me do it, and my siblings and I made fast work to get it back on the town’s grid, though the magical way to get running water and dispose of waste ended up being preferable to getting the plumbing up to par. We ended up not being needed for much else than decorate after that, so we settled with tea and scones to watch the twins work their magic, literally. 

A few flicks of wands turned the bags of sand we’d brought into glass panes, a wave and a muttered sentence birthed a vine-shaped structure from the solid steel bars we stacked along a wall. Soon, the entire garden found itself enclosed in an exquisite rounded glass-house in the Art Nouveau style, a side of it blended into the structure of the house. 

The far walls, and indeed any walls not leading outside or dissimulating the ground-floor bathroom, have vanished, leaving the space completely open with only honeyed hardwood floors, gleaming wooden beams, and white walls. 

The former, half-destroyed, attic got turned into a large mezzanine bedroom, a sculpted balcony giving a bird’s view of the glass garden and assorted stairs leading down. An open, golden-tiled bathroom and wide dressing area take the wall opposite the stairs, a large rounded window with cushioned window-seat looking outside on the front of the house while the walls boast pictures of fiery colored flowers and shelves of orchids, Dawn’s new bed and fluffy scarlet rug taking the rest of the space, all warm, inviting and comfortable. A truly tasteful master bedroom. 

The kitchen, now opened onto the rest of the room, gets a complete, modern refurbishing, all in gleaming golden tiles and appliances. The widened windows flood light onto the brand new burners and oven, the gigantic golden fridge wedged into a magically added nook, and the new island sporting an equally golden washing-drying machine. 

A nice, large fireplace made of red bricks now occupies the side where the living-room was left beside the kitchen, the flatscreen mounted on a tastefully shaped movable arm above it, and gold and cream faux-fur rug warming mortal feet under the coffee table. Where Dawn’s sleeping corner used to be rose an entire driftwood library, its twisting knots and branches dripping with creeping, perfumed potted jasmine. 

Everywhere, potted plants grow along walls, mounted on shelves, turned into art, falling from the beams. The inhabited part turns flawlessly into the garden, every nook and cranny thriving with life, be it pretty flowers, berry-bushes, aromatic or medicinal plants, all encouraged to grow under our eyes with careful strokes of pale little fingers. 

The earth breathes around us like a sigh of relief, and it’s a wonder to behold. Even once the twins have finished their part, once things stop sparking and moving on their own, it’s still utterly magical. 

I’m in love with Dawn’s idea of home. It’s like being a fairy living in a tree house, in the middle of a fantastical land. None of Esme’s creations were ever this gorgeous and alive. 

I hope I’ll get to watch her keep turning the world into such beauty for the rest of my immortal life, for this is like witnessing a miracle. 

  
Dawn Black is a miracle, to me. 

**To be continued…**


	4. Dawn Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish you a happy new year, let's hope it gets better from now on!

**DB**

  
I used to think my life was going down the shitter; now I realise that once you’ve reached rock bottom, things either look up, or you die. 

  
I’m not dying. 

  
The twins brought everything of mine they could find, from old mustard-coloured socks to textbooks; Percival, in an effort to teach me wandless magic, advised me to try with First Year spells and go from there. I just upgraded to Third Year charms, but transfiguration became so much easier since I understood that the trick was to visualise what I want instead of complicating things with spells and magical theory and whatnot. I don’t use these books at all anymore. 

  
Percival is impressed with my instinctual grasp in the matter, but my instinct always worked better when not trying to follow the illogical rules of magical theory, which I pretty much threw out the window on the regular anyway. 

It pleases me that taking the time to scour my old textbooks taught me a whole range of other spells. It helped me realise I don’t need someone else to act as my brain, as Hermione used to, I am perfectly able to think by myself. 

Jasper’s praises when tutoring me also went a long way in that direction. 

I had thought of leaving high-school and letting Evan Harris fade into nothingness, to concentrate on my magical studies, but giving up didn’t sit right with me. Not only have I promised Sarah I’d do my best when she registered me, and I despise people who break their promises, I also genuinely enjoy learning new things and spending my days with Jasper, Emmett and Rosalie, as at least one of them is in every single one of my classes. 

We still congregate in the library for lunch every day, they try new recipes that I’ll then send to the twins to produce _en masse_ to sell around the world. Blood pastries and sweets became an instant success, I don’t understand how no-one thought about that before, or why no-one is doing their own recipes now that the idea is up there instead of buying ready-made products. 

Apparently, mine are better. Maybe people are just lazy. 

Fred and George visit every week-end, then spend the rest of the week exploring new possibilities, meeting new people all over the world. Newt and them get on like a house on fire, Percival reports, their experimenting in the potion labs often resulting in colourful explosions and bouts of hilarity. Old Newt being such a staple of the potionist community around the world enabled the twins to meet many interesting people and access knowledge they couldn’t have before. New product ideas and ground-breaking discoveries are being churned every week at a frightening pace. 

How so many people, including their mother, dismissed their astounding genius because of their mischief, I’ll never understand. 

Every week-end, thus, they come and teach potions to Rosalie and I, as she became very interested in learning any magic she could after Jasper told her it could possibly give her the child she always wanted in the future. The twins couldn’t be more different from Snape as teachers; they’re fun, encouraging, willing to explain every little detail of why something must be done in one way and not another, and they rejoice at every weird chemical reaction a mistake might provoke, though thank Merlin magic can so easily clean my kitchen. 

Rosalie and I also decide to be initiated to the practice of runic magic, to George’s delight as it is his favourite branch of magic. It’s much less complicated than Hermione made it out to be, very instinctive once you have the basics down… then again, the instinctive part might be exactly what made it so difficult for her, she was never very creative, forever unwilling to walk out of the path others traced before her. 

Still, she shouldn’t have made it sound like I’d never be able to grasp it when I feigned interest in her class. She made me feel like a bumbling, stupid idiot to her superior intellect. 

I’m not stupid. 

And boy, was George furious when I told him about that particular instance of Hermione-ness, he turned bright red, which clashed with his hair, and nearly smoked at the ears. 

“That blasted, holier-than-thou little know-it-all…” 

Autumn ended without me really noticing, and soon, everyone is preparing for Christmas. When Emmett, in his huge red truck, brings a little tree in a huge gold-painted pot and an assortment of brightly coloured garlands and glass bubbles to fill with glitter and whatever we want, I suddenly notice than my home has slowly been filled with the three vampire siblings’ possessions. 

My slowly expanding library boasts Jasper’s collection of literature, art and history books, Rosalie’s fashion and automobile magazines through the ages and mechanics texts, and Emmett’s comic-books and graphic novels. The shelves on either side of the fireplace are overflowing with neatly ordered cases of video games and assorted consoles. Two laptops not my own charge dutifully under the coffee table. Jasper’s drawings adorn whatever space is left on my walls, Rosalie’s bone lace project awaits in a woven basket at the feet of the loveseat. 

An entire section of my fridge is stacked full of blood bags, human and animal. 

  
All three often spend the night in my living-room, unwilling to go back to the rest of their family unless it’s to shower and change in the early morning before classes, or to have sex in their own bedroom in the couple’s case. They basically live with me. 

It feels good, though I’m a bit ashamed I didn’t plan for a spare bedroom in my home, thank Merlin vampires don’t sleep. 

A room for Emmett and Rosalie seems a nice gift, I believe, so I buckle up and start wandlessly modifying the corner of the ground floor sporting the bathroom for them, enlisting Jasper’s help to furnish and decorate it to Rosalie’s tastes. The romantic old fashioned black wrought-iron furnitures, magically enlarged wardrobe, glittering baroque tapestry, potted roses and warm pink satin sheets, carpet and upholstery will please her, as well as the wide claw-footed tub and pink marble bathroom. 

Instead of a wall with a door, I make the entrance into an entire one-way glass wall with sliding door, looking out into the garden. I modify the wooden stairs leading up to my room so they won’t spoil the view. A few strengthening spells to make the furnitures unbreakable and a silencing ward wrap up my gift; Jasper believes it will be very well received, as it is an exquisite cocoon of romance _à la française_. 

I asked him to move in as well. In my room. 

Liberated from the glamour that was stunting my growth, I quickly caught on with the years of teenagehood I had previously missed, hormones and lust raging in my system with a vengeance. The pheromones and emotions wafting out of my body rapidly got Jasper to think of me in a sexual context, to say the least, we can hardly keep our hands to wander when in polite company. 

Hell, we regularly take advantage of the Notice-Me-Not still cursing me to give into the exhibitionist streak neither of us knew we had, groping each other up in the middle of classes, though only the ones neither of his siblings attend. 

I went to my knees under his desk just last week, smirking around my mouthful at his herculean attempt at hiding his reactions and quiet his groans. That wooden desktop now sports finger-shaped cracks, along with others around school. Emmett didn’t take long to catch on between the smells and the broken desks, he won’t let us live it down, not that we have the decency to feel ashamed anymore. 

I ask Jasper to move in with me, and whisper at his ear that making me his will be his gift. He has a hard time letting me go to my shift at the diner, licking his chops while devouring me with his eyes as I cook steaks and fry potatoes at Sarah’s demands. Saturday evening will be my last shift here; I no longer need the money, and a nephew of Sarah will take over the kitchens come Monday. 

I’ll have more time for studying and other endeavours without having to contend with a job. 

I watch as Emmett tries to trap the colourful sparks the tiny fairies Newt released in my garden produce in a glass bubble to decorate the Christmas tree I am coaxing to grow in its golden pot. He’s like a giant kid jumping around, laughter always sparkling in his eyes. He’s Hedwig’s favourite, I believe, because he’s forever using her to get magical bits and bobs he buys on catalogues delivered here, he speaks to her like he does his wife, treats them both like goddesses and spoils them with gifts, treats and attention. 

Putting Emmett and the twins in the same room was either the best, or the worst idea ever. I haven’t decided yet. They get into the most ridiculous troubles, like that time they fiddled with something they shouldn’t have in the middle of Seattle and ended up painting themselves, unfortunate passers-by and an entire swath of street royal purple. 

A no-maj street, or it would have been no fun. 

Thank everything holy it was just comestible powder washable by soap and not something only a spell could undo, or MACUSA would have had a fit. 

The rest of us just get to watch in exasperated fondness as the three of them flail around in insanity, sometimes joined by old, crazy Newt and his pets to make things worse. 

The holiday comes, finally freeing us from school for a time. The Cullens start to notice that half the coven is hardly around anymore, or rather, Edward and Alice do, as they eagerly plan family activities to include Bella, and end up being told that none of their siblings will participate. 

That’s how I end up noticed by the rest of the coven _and_ by the local shifter pack. They take turns invading my home, the former suspiciously inquiring about my relationship with their covenmates, the later trying to warn me away from the _leeches_ while posturing three or more heads above me, the huge dicks they are. Trying to be all subtle about it, too, though their definition of subtlety leaves much to be desired. 

Alice becomes increasingly nosy as she can’t stand not having seen anything about me, or indeed, still not getting anything even as she tries to focus on me from now on. She tries to be friendly, but the insincerity of it, combined with her attitude being way over the top and the non-consensual _touching_ just gets on my nerves. Jasper also tells me that she’s slightly jealous, but still convinced he will go back to her as if I were just a fun little side-story, which he assures me I’m not, if I wasn’t already sure. 

I don’t like another woman staking claim on what became mine after she lost it, and no mistake about it, she lost Jasper for good. 

Edward is even worse in a way. While he’s still mostly hovering around his poor girlfriend most of the time and watching her every actions like a creep, now he also tries to get in my head every time he’s in my vicinity. 

Snape’s occlumency lessons might have been a bust, but I know when someone tries to intrude on the sanctity of my mind now, which caused me to blow up at the copper-haired vampire’s face and call him a rapist, then kick him out of my home with a blast of raw magic that shorted my circuit-breaker and sent my fairy friends abuzz in anger. 

Later, after Jasper had _words_ with his brother, which ended up with Alice throwing a tantrum, Edward admitting all he got from my mind was hissing, and them getting into a nasty fight that broke the teenaged vampire’s piano along with half the room, my… boyfriend, I guess, came home with Em’s truck heavy with bags and boxes of his belongings. 

Jasper won’t be going back to the Cullen coven. 

As for the shifters, they don’t tend to stroll into people’s home as if they belong there, and there’s nothing I can do if their so-called patrols happen to go through the forest border in my backyard thrice a night, so I leave them to their own devices. Though, if you ask me, patrolling around my property seems to be treated as a punishment for unruly members of the pack, for some reason… 

It’s midnight on Christmas, the twins, my three vampires and I are all enjoying a piece of cake while sipping eggnog, and making a blood-flavoured version of _that_ was a bitch and a half but it’s been selling awesomely well, when I notice the shadow of a large canine on the edge of the treeline, the “smallest”, grey one of the pack. 

“Fred, George, can one of you bring a plate to whichever poor wolf was ordered by their blasted alpha to keep an eye on us on this night of all nights? I swear, that man has no notion on proper leadership, lording his power over his packmates like that!” 

“Yeah, princess,” Emmett guffaws, “you go tell the big bad wolf how to treat his fellow mutts, that’ll go over so well!” 

“No racist canine slurs at my table now, mister, my father was a dog! And I've met actual werewolves, that humongous idiot is no big bad wolf, let me tell you. Fenrir Greyback, now _that's_ someone I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, or at all, his horror stories still make parents quake in terror on full moons near two decades after he disappeared from Britain. Fred, where are you going?” 

“Methinks my other half is taking a bit long, I’ll make sure he didn’t get himself eaten.” 

Not a minute later, Jasper whips his head in the direction of the treeline, eyebrows climbing up his forehead. 

“Holy shit.” 

“What? Did the mutt do something to the twins?” Rosalie growls threateningly while starting to rise from the loveseat. 

“Believe me, you don’t want to interrupt. I think whichever wolf it is imprinted. On both of them.” 

“… holy shit!” 

Three human shapes get back in the greenhouse some time later, one of them visibly hesitant despite the bravado in her squared shoulders. I quickly throw a scent-suppressing charm at the vampires and freshen the air with a twirl of the fingers under the amused gaze of my boyfriend. Then I _accio_ a new glass for the eggnog. 

“Boys and girls, meet Leah Clearwater, the dashing sole female of the…” 

“… local pack; it seems Destiny chose to knock on our door rather than Dawn’s, for once, so…” 

“… miss Clearwater and ourselves will be spending a lot of time in each other’s company from now on. Miss Clearwater, meet…” 

“… the ever scrumptious miss Rosalie Hale and her huge…” 

“… though hilarious!” 

“… husband Emmett, our very own cutesy, itsy-bitsy…” 

“… little sister Dawni-wobble, and her dastardly boyfriend.” 

“Who better remember our truly terrifying shovel talk…” 

“… for there _will_ be shovels involved should anything untoward happen…” 

“Jasper Whitlock!” 

“You get used to it,” I gently reassure the bewildered woman as I pour the drink. “Now comes the big question: boys, were the rumours of hot, twincestuous sex happening in your dormitory when Lee wasn’t around actually true?” 

“Why! A gentleman…” 

“… does not kiss and tell!” 

“And how come I’m the only one who doesn’t get introduced properly? Really, Dawni-wobble? Call me that again and you’ll know my wrath. Like Voldemort on a bad hair day.” 

“… Dawnster, that didn’t even make sense…” 

“… but time for gifts! Our pardons, dashing she-wolf, we have nothing to offer you beside our undeserving souls as of now…” 

“… but fret not! We will get something properly gorgeous for the gorgeous lady you are!” 

She reluctantly chuckles at their antics, then settles with her cake and drink to warily watch us hand over packages. 

Rosalie actually squeals at the sight of the new bedroom, and Emmett throws me up in the air then twirls me around in joy. The twins howl in happiness at my gift of the Marauder’s journal of pranks and inventions, as well as their detailed account of their turning into animagi. 

Rosalie offers my first few pairs of proper stiletto heels, as she spent the last two months training me up to it with stylish leather platform boots, and Emmett gets his wish of turning me into a princess by giving me a beautiful gold and ivory gown and assorted tiara he probably had made in some high-scale wedding shop, making me promise I’ll wear them at prom. The twins opted for a tasteful set of jewellery in white gold and emeralds shaped as vines, tiny metal does and grims running between the leaves, bringing tears to my eyes. 

From them again, Em gets a box of prank products and Jasper a collection of magical history books, but Rosalie gets the best gift: a set of potions and spells of their invention that, together, will enable her to get pregnant. 

If vampires could cry, Emmett and Rosalie would, and so would Jasper, as he can feel their emotions invade his body. Really, anyone in the room can feel their deep happiness and gratefulness, no need to be an empath to join in their mood. 

When everyone has settled down, even Leah partaking in the joyful occasion and congratulating the couple, though there is a shadow in her dark eyes, Jasper finally hands me a little white velvet box, looking deep into my soul. 

In the box sits a simple platinum ring with a single, clear blue diamond seemingly shining with its own inner light. 

I gasp. 

“When I asked Fred and George for your hand, they agreed to help me find the perfect ring to put on your perfect finger. We found this diamond in Africa, where they were visiting a magical reserve for a deal and heard of an old mine on the reserve being flooded with raw magic decades ago, saturating the stones, giving them particular properties along with this otherworldly glow; they brought me back there a few weeks ago so that I could find you one. The locals believe these diamonds are blessed by Magic itself, just as I believe I was blessed the day I noticed you in that English class, and every day since. Dawn Lila Black, will you marry me?”

  
**To be continued...**

Best wishes. 


	5. Jasper Whitlock NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay, school starting back up murdered me, and I will miss having something to post so much I didn’t want to give up this last chapter… 
> 
> Well, here it is, folks! Do remember the smut warning, it starts at the very beginning…

**JW**

**NSFW warning**

There are many scars on her milk-pale skin, lashes and cuts and punctures, strange symbols, a sentence carved into the back of her left hand stating _I_ _must not tell lies_. 

Yet, to me, she looks made by some pagans gods to tempt me away from all I knew, all sugar and silk and jewels, all good things. 

Her lips, a dusty dark pink, soft and inviting now that she takes more care in her grooming, mouth at my own numerous bite marks, scarring my neck, my shoulders, crisscrossing the whole length of my arms. She has to stand on the tips of her toes to nuzzle into the hollow of my throat, warm water cascading down on us and washing the citrus scented foam from our skin. 

I like having her like this, naked against me, hot and slippery and relaxed, her wild curls weighted down straight, her long black lashes blinking away crystalline little droplets as she commits every detail of me to memory. 

I like that she feels my hard flesh warmed against hers rather than room-temperature cool. 

Her sweet, plump mouth is pliant and wet, eager to be plundered, as is the rest of her. 

I shut the shower down, wrap her in a fluffy red towel, then carry her to bed. With a twirl of her dainty fingers, we are both dry before we touch the satin sheets, the tight weaved cotton tearing a sigh from her with its incredible softness. 

Unwilling to hurry despite her urging, I map out her body with my lips, tonguing the shiny, rune-engraved rings at her nipples, then at her belly-button, made by George to help her breasts and hips enlarge faster. And how deliciously curvy they grew indeed, in barely two months, plump, perky globes filling my hands perfectly, soft and hot and seemingly made to be kneaded and nosed and suckled on, which I happily indulge in before sliding further down to kiss adorable white, stubby-toed feet, the little digits wiggling against my cheek then trying to tangle in the short hair above my ear. 

I mouth up the inside of a long leg, nibbling a spot two inches above the knee that always makes her moan when I press, then hoist her knees up to her shoulders, eyeing my prize. 

Her core wafts wet hotness, honeyed juices practically dribbling from hairless, pulpy lips shaped like a peach, hiding deep pink, sensitive treasures I always enjoy tasting. 

Her hymen is less of a breakable seal, more of a supple ring I spent weeks coaxing slowly open with tongue and fingers, getting her body used to intrusion. It always reverts back to its original tightness, so I once more settle down, ready to work her up until she’s able to take me without pain. 

Her thin fingers tug on the longer blonde strands atop my skull as she whines at me to make her mine, crying out for kisses, pleading to finally be filled. I avidly watch four fingers pump gently inside her, stretching her wider than she ever was. 

I look up at her face, thrown back and eyes rolled up her skull, sweet mouth open and panting incoherent words haphazardly strung together. 

She’s ripe for the taking, my love. 

She strains in pleasure as I breach her for the first time, her core eagerly sucking me in, rippling against my length. She’s so small, smaller than my last lover even, but where I never could truly make Alice mine, Dawn’s body keeps urging me deeper. 

The sex-ed books said witches were made to be able to breed with any magical species, human-shaped or not. Dawn was made to take everything I have to offer. 

After a time of increasingly brutal thrusts and insisting hip-rolls she enthusiastically encourages, the ring of flesh deep inside her body relaxes enough that the next time I surge in, I feel my flared head breaking in a new place, then keep burrowing deeper until, for the first time with any woman, I bottom out, my balls slapping on her skin. 

I freeze, hips stuttering and eyes rolled back in ecstasy. No other woman could let me in this most sacred sanctuary inside their body, the cradle of all life, but Dawn, my Dawn was born for this. 

As she howls, her whole being stretched taut in her peak, I draw back out of her precious womb, then force her to keep riding the waves of pleasure by dragging the engorged tip of my cock quickly in and out of the entrance, then brutally thrusting all the way in one last time, firmly holding her down on me, making her body suck in all the seed I spill as I watch her white out, calves on my shoulders and nails digging in my butt-cheeks, trying to get me deeper even in her crowded core. 

My darlin’ ordered I don’t stop until I couldn’t get it up anymore, feverishly demanding I breed her, mate her properly like a beast, and so I comply, sliding out to roll her on her belly then hoist her delicately rounded hips up, kneading the bouncy bubble-butt as she slowly comes back to consciousness, then skewering her back on my member, making her cry out in her broken voice. 

I admire the view of her helplessly sprawled arms, the drool pooling under her begging mouth, the scarred, heaving back, the trembling thighs painstakingly trying to find the strength to thrust back to meet my movements. I devour the sight of her pink, soaked pussy straining around my large width, and the dusky pucker winking invitingly at me above. 

I can’t resist slipping a knuckle in, feeling the walls flutter around my pad. I’ll make that mine too, at some point. No-one ever let me do that, but Dawn will, she wants it all. 

She drifts in and out of consciousness all night, sometimes mewling at me to go harder, sometimes chocking on a scream. By the time I stop, tired and famished, the whole room stinks of sweat and sex, bodily fluids staining the sheets and drying on our skin. 

She’s curled in my arms, asleep, her overused cunt suckling lazily at my spent, soft member still sheathed inside her. I palm the mounds of a breast in one hand, and a slightly inflated belly in the other, fingers playing with silver rings. I nibble at a pointy little ear, feeling like a sated cat. 

My heavy-lidded eyes catch on the glow of an African diamond on her left hand. 

I smirk smugly. 

A few hours later, I hear Emmett emerging from the new room, scavenge in the fridge for something, then go back to his and his wife’s blissfully isolated space. I rise also after having wrapped my fiancée in a blanket, barely bothering to put on a bathrobe before jumping down from the balcony. 

When trying to cook something for the first time since nearly two centuries, Google is your friend; from the smell, I’d say the pancakes aren’t a complete failure, and the tea is just how my darlin’ likes it. 

For the hell of it, I fold a napkin into a flower, placing it on the breakfast tray. I don’t remember ever feeling so sappy and romantic, whether as a vampire or a human. 

Someone rings the doorbell. 

The odious stink of wet dog, as well as the numerous hulking masses I glimpse through the window, shake me out of my good mood. 

“You know, boys,” I drawl as I lazily lean against the open door, bathrobe uncaringly spread to show off my torso all the way to my blonde happy trail, “it’s one thing to run around half-naked. It’s quite another to run around half-naked in winter and hope no-one in Forks will notice there’s something going on, nevermind to loiter in front of a young woman’s home in ankle-deep snow. Without shoes on. What brings you so far from your families on this fine Christmas morning?” 

“Dude, it’s past noon. Can you cover up? No one wants to see your junk!” 

“Irrelevant. I just got out of bed to cook breakfast, thus it’s still morning, and again, you are all half-naked on my front yard, flashing your goods at any passerby, so you can hardly get on my case, no one asked you to come _watch my junk_. Now, my darlin’s breakfast is getting cold, so I ask you, why are you here?” 

“A member of the pack didn’t come back from patrol this morning,” growls Uley. “If any of you leeches have anything to do with it…” 

“Ah, so you came to threaten with no good reason? What kind of idea was it to send someone to patrol alone all night near a known _vampire nest_ , on Christmas eve no less? Did miss Clearwater insult your manliness to be punished in such a way, _alpha_?"

“You know where my sister is, then?” asks the youngest wolf, worryingly biting at his lip. 

“Seth, shut up!” 

“You shut up! You shouldn’t have sent Leah away alone just because she pissed you off!” 

The alpha and his most volatile beta turn on the relatively little one, growling and shaking in anger. 

“That’s enough!” I hiss threateningly, subduing the wolves with waves of fear that make them step back with a collective whine. “My fiancée has been nice until now, letting you creep around her property and spy on us with no retaliation, but if you can’t behave like civilized people while she sleeps upstairs, I _will_ put you both down like rabid dogs and your friends can carry you home to lick your wounds. Now, Seth, your sister is safe. She was invited to our celebrations, ate cake, drank maybe a little bit too much alcoholic eggnog, then left with her new friends, probably to get a taste of their expansive collection of brain-melting spirits. I’m sure she’ll come back as soon as she gets over the hangover.” 

“… we don’t get hangovers, though…” whispers another boy. 

“Honey, my brother is a vampire thrice your size, and I can feel his hangover after drinking that thing from here, so if I were you, whenever miss Clearwater comes back, I’d stay out of her way and avoid raising my voice. She doesn’t strike me as someone who’ll hesitate before ripping your balls off for aggravating her headache, then you’ll just have to hope your healing faculties will make them grow back. Now, please sashay away.” 

I slam the door at their faces before getting my tray and speeding up the stairs. 

I find my little love balled up under her blanket, watching me with an amused smirk. 

“Sashay away, really?” 

“I fully blame you and Rosalie for that one. You are the ones watching that Drag Queen contest, it’s more disturbing than Emmett’s Monster Trucks one.” 

“It’s the glitter, that’s why you can’t take your eyes off even if you don’t want to watch. You vampires are like magpies when you see something shiny, you can’t help it,” she giggles. 

“Yeah? Well I see something really shiny just here…” I answer, nuzzling her shoulder. “Now eat, then we’ll take a bath together with one of these glittery bombs your brothers gave us, then we’ll laze the day away.” 

Before the end of the holidays, Emmett and Rose have definitely moved in as well, despite our family’s pleas. Nothing for it, though; even if Bella were to suddenly disappear from our lives, something in our former harmony has broken beyond repair, and the three of us have since found peace someplace else. Carlisle lets us go, believing it might be like that time Edward threw a tantrum and went to feed on humans for a few years before coming back, but that situation has nothing in common with ours. 

Edward and Alice seem to decide that if we don’t side with them, then we’re against them, not that there actually are sides to take. They pretend that we don’t exist anymore, not that it changes much from their behavior in the last year, though there is a new pettiness to it. 

Only Esme keeps in contact, coming to visit our new home, meet my new fiancée, and calling every other day. 

Life goes on. Often, Leah visits when the twins are here for the weekend, but she still doesn’t feel comfortable around my siblings and I. Otherwise, I learn that she is slowly leaving the pack behind to accompany her imprints on their adventures, only staying around to look over her beloved little brother, whom we get to meet several times. 

Seth is a refreshingly non-discriminatory young person, and since a few spells are all it takes to conceal our respective, repulsive aroma, he doesn’t lose any time before latching upon Emmett’s playfulness and making friends with everyone. 

At some point, as he was struggling with his Civil War history class, I reveal my origin story, explaining that despite the propaganda at the time and what has been written down by the victors, it wasn’t actually all about slavery. Most of us young grunts enlisted in the Confederate Army because we happened to live in the South, and we felt it was merely a matter of protecting our homes from pillaging, our women from raping by the enemy soldiers. Not all Confederate soldiers were dastardly slavers and racists, we weren’t all utterly uncaring of human life or seeing different people as lower than dirt, it’s all about cultural differences and upbringing, and contrary to popular belief, all slaves weren’t African. 

Master Horace Whitlock was a bad man, racist, drunk, violent, and rich enough to pass for an outstanding citizen to the eyes of other, similar men. His violence, however, extended to his wife and daughters, so when the neighbor’s stable master, a tall, handsome, honey-blond Irish slave with enough gentleness in him to make him seem simple-minded, helped poor, beaten Margaret Whitlock when she fainted on her way home one day, she fell in love. 

I was born a year later, blond hair so different from both my parents; Horace killed the Irishman in drunken rage the night I drew my first breath, then got himself trampled to death by the horses. My mother gave me the name of her husband, and only told me the story once I was grown, carefully hiding my parentage from everyone else. 

If she ever told me my father’s name, I do not remember it. Most of my memories of my human life involve either war, or the three beloved women I fought it for, afraid of seeing them killed or turned into prizes at the hands of men just as evil as Horace Whitlock was. 

Few people ever understood how much war, both as a human and a vampire, marked me. Among those I’ve frequented since Alice found me in Philadelphia, none have known war, none carry those scars, these memories. Every time Edward called himself a soulless monster in my presence, I couldn’t help but think how pampered he always was; a hundred years on this Earth, nearly ninety since he was turned, and he still behaves like an egocentric teenager. 

Perhaps Carlisle turned him too young, and like the immortal children, he will never outgrow his attitude. 

I hadn’t been a child in a long time when I was turned. 

Now, I see that, and the scars of war, in my darlin’s eyes as I retell my story. She didn’t have much of a childhood herself, always hunted and manipulated by madmen, taking her first life before she turned twelve. As I feel my father died because of my birth, she believes her mother died because of hers, and her father because of a mistake she made. 

She stopped the war before it truly started to affect her people, but still, she lived the war others avoided thanks to her. 

She went a long way since the day we met, the overwhelmingly painful open wounds now scarred or at least scabbed over; her strength inspires me. 

She understands me. 

One Friday, in March, both Dawn and Rosalie kick us men out of the house for a few hours; when we get permission to come back, Percival’s husband is there, sipping tea with a mischievous twinkle in his averted eyes. 

Our girls sit Emmett and I down before announcing it: 

“You are going to be fathers!” 

If I could pass out, I would, while my brother opts for whooping in joy and swiping his wife off her feet. 

“Jasper? Are you alright?... aren’t you happy?” 

The fear unfurling in my fiancée’s heart knocks me off my daze; I rush to reassure her, cold, hard hands fluttering on her little, lovely face, brushing on a still flat belly without daring to truly touch.

She grasps them in her own, warn ones, firmly spreading them on the cashmere of her sweater. 

“That’s yours, Jasper. All yours, forever.” 

Emmett and I can’t help but hover on our respective mates from then on, as if we weren’t unbearable enough before, though our women take it with smugness, striding through school like the queens they truly are. If I could barely keep my hands off Dawn, now I’m stuck to her side like a shadow, growling at anyone unknown stepping too close. 

Either the Notice-Me-Not is weakening, or the constant vicinity of the three of us is too attention-grabbing for it to work, because others are now noticing Dawn, and the gossips never find rest anymore. 

We just learned from Percival that Victoria, the vampire that was pursuing Bella for vengeance, was executed and her newborns apprehended and scattered by MACUSA, when Alice gets a vision, presumably about Rosalie. She stalks to us in the middle of recess, Edward and their pet human on her heels, and starts making a scene, screaming about our sister being pregnant for all the student body to witness. 

Rose coldly puts her down, stating the starting roundness of her lower stomach was pretty obvious, especially for someone who knows Rosalie doesn’t just _get fat_. In a same move, Em and I wrap around our respective mate, smugly stroking their bellies, though mine being only two months along there isn’t much to show. 

“What did you do?” Edward asks me, horrified. 

“Happens when boy sleeps with girl without condom,” I shrug. “Several times a night. For months. It was bound to end like this sooner rather than later, really.” 

“We worked hard for it,” Dawn adds cheekily. 

“My fiancée is an insatiable little succubus, you see.” 

“Fiancée!?” 

“Yes Alice, that’s what a diamond on that particular finger usually means,” Rosalie drawls. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to pee again and my overbearing boyfriend tends to loiter outside the door like a creep, so I need my siblings to distract him so he won’t scare the other girls who need the toilets away.” 

And on the rumors churn, though the nasty girls snickering at the presence of two teenaged moms don’t snicker for long when faced with the imperious radiance of the proudly gravid women, strolling around awaited on hands and knees by enamored boyfriends eagerly heeding their every command, fashionably clothed to smugly show off swellings breasts and slowly growing bumps on their already perfect figures. 

We get another visit from the pack, which ends up in a disaster after Uley took a threatening step too close to my darlin’, convinced the child of a vampire must be some kind of antichrist. 

When my warning hiss and Leah and Seth’s yelling that he’s insane, thinking to attack a pregnant human, didn’t deter him, and he turned into a wolf, shredding his sparse clothes to jump at the throat of my future wife, I lost all sense of diplomacy. 

By the time the bloodlust receded, I, along with Emmett and every wolf, were suspended in thin air, wiggling and unable to do much else, while Dawn stood above a human-shaped alpha beaten halfway to death, lightning coursing through both their bodies and burning his copper skin. 

There was a heaviness in the air, like standing in the middle of a cyclone, the skies suddenly rumbling and dark as night, wind rising and trees dancing ominously around us. 

Sam Uley, broken and bleeding, looked up at the slight little woman with frizzing hair and glowing irises, her gorgeous face a mask of soul-freezing wrath, his own eyes wide and terrified beyond word. 

“Threaten my child again,” she whispered calmly, “and you’re _dead_."

She turned around, grabbing a frightened Rosalie’s hand, and left us all out, whatever magic holding us up breaking as the door slammed shut. 

It quickly sorted itself out from there, everyone too afraid of my mate’s temper and powers to start anything. Leah and her brother definitively quit the pack, both outraged enough by the alpha’s actions to break away from his influence. 

They don’t seem to need an alpha to live well, their need of social belonging fulfilled as they decide to make our little family their pack. 

Seth truly is the sweetest, kindest boy, eagerly babbling at the girls’ bellies and reading up on childcare, happy to get to play uncle soon and get his turn at getting puked and pooped on, and having little babies tug on his fur and ears. Even Rose thinks he’s endearing, and God knows she hardly ever thinks positively of anyone, though Leah and her greatly enjoy getting their bitch on in a way none of the rest of us can handle. 

I stroke my mate’s tiny bump, eager to feel it move one day soon, a blood pop stuck under my tongue. 

Soon, her year trapped in Forks will be over. We will graduate from our Senior Year, possibly for the last time for my siblings and I, and then… 

Then, a whole new life awaits. 

I can’t wait to embrace the future…

**The end.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all folks! I hope you enjoyed the ride. I remind you that this was inspired by “Blood Pops and Other Sweets” by Rokkis on fanfiction.net, which is an unfortunately unfinished story of 5 chapters but is up for adoption for everyone! That being said, if anyone wished to write something inspired by my own story, I’d be glad to read it, so please give me a holler and do mention where your idea came from! 
> 
> So, this is it… I’m so sad it’s over. 
> 
> Goodbye…


End file.
